Practice Makes Perfect
by kellyofsmeg
Summary: A sort of re-imagining from my fic, "Dad." Set between Series II-III. As Lister's due date approaches, Kryten is facing the deadline of learning to become a surgeon so that he doesn't inadvertently kill Mr. Lister. Fluff and guiltridden!Kryten. And mpreg, obviously. Blame Grant Naylor.


**Practice Makes Perfect**

 **by kellyofsmeg**

 **Disclaimer: All the usual smeg-Red Dwarf is Grant Naylor's creation, not mine.**

Kryten was performing a very delicate operation. All had been going according to plan thus far. He had followed every step with painful accuracy. But something had gone wrong. The heart rate monitor sounded with a series of high pitched bleeps, which Kryten frantically tried to eradicate. His patient was losing too much blood through the gaping incision in his abdomen. Kryten grabbed a heap of towels and tried to stem the flow of blood, soaking the fluffy white linens scarlet. His patient's heart was failing. He grabbed the charged defibrillator and put a pad over either side of his chest. "Clear!" He shocked the heart. "Clear!"

But a one long dull, flat, ringing sound announced that it was too late. Flat-lined. His patient was dead.

Kryten hung his head in shame and took off his simulation gloves and goggles, logging himself out of the artificial medi-simulator. He looked up just in time to see Rimmer stroll through the medi-bay doors.

"Everything tickety-boo?" Rimmer asked pleasantly, clapping his hands together.

"Hello, Mr. Rimmer," said Kryten solemnly, hanging up his headset.

"How's the simulation training going—think you'll be ready for the big day?"

"I just lost another one," Kryten said meekly. Rimmer frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but when Kryten turned his back on him to look at the display screen Rimmer instead followed and craned over his shoulder. "However, in many other respects, I think the operation went rather well."

" _Well?"_ Rimmer scoffed. "Kryten, you just said the patient was dead!"

"Yes," Kryten admitted. "But this time the cause of the patient's death was internal hemorrhaging and heart failure."

"And that's supposed to be a relief?" Rimmer cried. "What was the cause of death last time?"

Kryten twiddled his hands together nervously. "Decapitation," at Rimmer's puzzled expression, Kryten added, "I think it was a bug in the program, sir."

"So what are you telling me, exactly?" Rimmer said, "That Lister shouldn't worry about the Cesarean because he's more likely to die of hemorrhaging and heart failure than decapitation?"

"Well, he can worry a bit less," Kryten said. "In fact, I think he'll be quite thrilled when he hears about my progress."

"I'm sure he'll find it to be a great comfort," said Rimmer sarcastically.

"Look at this, sir," said Kryten, pointing to the screen. "Mr. Lister's chances of survival have risen significantly. With any luck I'll still have weeks yet to perfect it."

"So what are his chances if he had to deliver, say—today?"

"Well, sir, if you look here you'll see that Mr. Lister's chances of survival have risen from forty-three point five percent to forty-three point seven percent. I think he'll be quite thrilled."

"Oh, by that much?" said Rimmer sarcastically. "I think we might want to keep those statistics between me and you for now, Kryten. A raise of four point two is hardly likely to boost Lister's moral when the chances of him pulling through this is still less than fifty percent."

"Well, Mr. Lister can rest assured that I'm working round the clock to perfect the operation to the point where I'd be able to deliver the twins in the dark with my head unscrewed if I had to."

"So I should still advise him to write a will, then?"

"Ah, good morning, Mr. Lister," Kryten called pleasantly over Rimmer's shoulder. The hologram whipped around to see his hugely pregnant bunk mate standing in the doorway of the medi-bay, watching them with an expression of curiosity. His head was cocked to one side, his hands ever-resting on his massively swollen stomach.

"You were talking about me, weren't you?" Lister said, in a display of his superior heightened senses. He also claimed that he could smell the Cat's pomade from across an entire corridor and that it made his nose itch. "I thought I felt me ears burning."

"Ah, Listy," said Rimmer, smiling with as much smarm as he could muster. "I didn't hear you come in. And I didn't even see the water in that cup on the console shaking to announce your pending arrival, either. You must have been tip-toeing."

"Very funny," Lister said humorlessly as Kryten hastily switched off the simulation monitor. Lister had grown weary of Rimmer's ill-contrived jokes about his ever-expanding waistline, learning to dismiss them rather than get defensive; he simply didn't have the energy, and he had other things to worry about. The impending birth was constantly on his mind. He was just ready for all of this to be over. The only thing that eclipsed his anxiety about giving birth was how inept he'd be handling two newborns afterward.

Hoping Lister hadn't noticed him switch off the simulation monitor, Kryten asked Lister cheerfully, "How are you feeling today, sir?"

Lister shrugged. "I can't complain."

"You can't complain?" Rimmer repeated in disbelief. "You always have something to complain about," Rimmer imitated Lister's voice so perfectly that Lister bristled a bit in indignation, "'They're using me bladder like it's a trampoline! Me ankles look they belong on an elephant!'"

"I don't sound like that," said Lister dismissively, "...do I, Krytes?"

"I couldn't say, sir," said Kryten, suddenly busying himself with unnecessarily straightening out the line of medical utensils from the simulation.

"I'm just so smegging tired; I've got no fight left in me. You're practicing for the operation again?" said Lister, nodding to the machine. "How's it going?"

Kryten stammered and wrung his hands together nervously. His programming wouldn't let him lie, even to put Lister's mind at ease. "It's—well, sir—it's going—"

"It's going splendidly!" said Rimmer, collapsing his hands together and giving Lister his best reassuring smile. "Performing a Cesarean section is nearly second nature to him now—just like slicing open a mango!"

Lister's lip curled slightly at the analogy. Before either of them could stop him (and moving surprisingly quickly for his size), Lister pounded the button to switch on the simulation monitor.

"This says your patient died of—" Lister squinted at the screen. "Decapitation?!" He looked wildly behind him at Kryten. "How the smeg did that happen?"

"Oh, sir," Kryten wailed. "I'm not sure—it was an accident! Nothing like that could possibly happen during the actual delivery—"

"I sure as hell hope not," said Lister, watching a replay of the simulation on the screen and feeling queasy. "For future reference Krytes, typically in a c-section the laser scalpel doesn't need to get anywhere near the neck."

"I'm sorry, sir," Kryten driveled, "It just got out of control—"

"I don't know why you're worrying, Listy. We've seen the future echo of you and the twins. And I'm pretty certain you had your head," said Rimmer. "Speaking of heads—the twins had rather large ones, as I recall. Have you taken that into account, Kryten?"

Lister rolled his eyes. "I'm getting out of here, before the two of you can come up with any more ingenious ways of hypothetically killing me."

"Oh, sir—I'm so sorry! I've failed you!" Kryten blubbered. "You should have just left me scattered in a million pieces on that asteroid with the remnants of your space bike for all the good I've been! You shouldn't have wasted your time and energy reconstructing me in your delicate condition!"

"Hey," Lister said, putting a comforting arm around the mechanoid's shoulders as he sobbed, "Don't talk like that. We're glad to have you on our crew—you've been a real lifesaver these past couple of weeks. I don't know how we managed without you. You realized we'd been going in circles for one thing, and I know you can deliver me boys. I've got faith in you, Krytes." Lister made a good effort to keep the desperation out of his voice; the alternative to Kryten was the skutters. The mere thought of those lovable, albeit hapless service bots getting anywhere near him and his unborn sons with a scalpel made him shudder with dread.

"But I'm simply not ready yet, sir," Kryten squeaked.

"No worries. You will be! And you've still got time to master your craft. Me boys shouldn't be coming for a few weeks yet," Lister said hopefully, pattinf the monolithic mound that was his stomach. "And Rimmer's right; everything works out. We've seen it."

"I suppose there's no confidence booster like hearing you've already succeeded in the future," Kryten said bashfully.

"That's right, man," Lister smiled to mask the anxiety he inevitably felt about going under the knife, regardless of knowing the outcome. "We've got nothin' to worry about."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Kryten, looking suddenly ashamed. "I should be the one comforting you!" The mechanoid patted Lister on the back. "There, there, sir."

"Thanks, Krytes..." said Lister.

"Still, we can't expect perfection without practice, now can we?" said Rimmer, with enough pompousness to suggest that he would have made an excellent retail manager. "Back to the simulation machine, Kryten! Listy's boys aren't going to deliver themselves!"

"Thank God for that," said Lister, as he and Rimmer leaned over either one of Kryten's shoulders to watch what turned out to be a most life-affirming voyage into the world of artificial medi-simulation; the outcome predicting a 99.9% chance of a successful delivery. (The other .1% was excluded by Crapola Inc. to prevent further lawsuits.)

 **AN: I wrote this fic years ago and only now decided to post it, for some reason...probably because _Dad_ was such a whopper. But I still had more to say! I have quite a few more fics like this one, so if you enjoyed it, please review and I'll think about posting more of the same :)**


End file.
